


I Can Save What's Left of You

by AMiserableLove



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Attempted Rape, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:35:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMiserableLove/pseuds/AMiserableLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She can't remember how she got there. She's drugged, her hands and legs are bound with rope. It all comes back to her in a flash. Her fight with Clint. Loki's mind control. A different take on what COULD have happened during/after Clint and Natasha's fight on the helicarrier. Two-part story. Still debating on adding a third chapter with a love scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Can Save What's Left of You

**Author's Note:**

> I am cross-posting this from FF. A couple of my M fictions from another fandom have been deleted so I am cross-posting some of my current/recent works. Thank goodness for AO3 :)
> 
> I would love to know what you think about this and your thoughts on a third! I've been asked to extend it to include a love scene...but I don't want to be one of those author's who just doesn't know when to QUIT ;)

Her head hurts.

_Really fucking hurts._

Opening an eye Natasha takes a moment to assess the situation.

Her brain is foggy. Her limbs are heavy.

She's been drugged.

She winces while trying to clear the thick haze that is hindering her thought process.

Glancing around her, she attempts to focus heavy lidded eyes. She's in the helicarrier. The room is easily recognizable; she's been in many similar to it. It's a basic room used for sleeping before or after missions. It's very small and very dark. She glances up to where she knows a camera should be and frowns when she sees it's been disconnected. That should have set off any number of alarms bringing a handful of armed guards to her. But as a low rumble shakes the walls around her and sirens sound in the distance, Natasha figures that whatever is happening outside the confines of her small prison is much more important than one disconnected camera.

Her eyes wander up to the ceiling. She's laying face up on a bed. Her legs are bound together; her hands are tied on either side of her head to a thin metal frame. There's nothing special about what she's been bound with. It's a thick rope…she pulls at it a little, her arms protest with the movement. She scowls; it's a very thick rope. The frame is solid, but if the drug's effects continue to wear off and given some time (something she may or may not have) and momentum she may be able to work on it.

This offers her a sliver of comfort.

Her mouth is free. She has not been gagged, which is not reassuring in the slightest. This just means that whoever took her believes that there's no need for it. Natasha ponders this. How is this happening? How is she a prisoner on a SHIELD helicarrier? Why isn't anyone looking for her? Someone has to be looking for her. Why has no one found her? The questions swirl in her foggy brain and as the walls rumble again, her scowl deepens.

What the hell is going on?

She tries to force away the gray clouds that are still heavy on the edge of her usually sharp and focused mind. The memory, the answer to what happened to her is there, she can almost grasp it. Struggling against the drugs, she demands her body and brain fight to overcome the barrier.

She's stronger than this.

Taking in a deep breath, she winces when pain roars up her body. Annoyed, she gives herself a moment to note her injuries. She's got a pretty nasty head wound, there's a dull throbbing and dried blood on the left side of her face, and her entire body feels like one big bruise. Other than that and the lingering side effects of whatever drug is coursing through her system, she's not severely injured.

Someone just did a decent job of thoroughly kicking the crap out of her, that's all.

And that's when it all comes flooding back to her.

Loki. Clint.

There had been a fight.

An intense one.

Despite the situation, she allows herself a small smirk. She hadn't gone down easily. She had fought the shell that used to be…still is Clint…she had fought him like hell. Only the bastard had cheated and had stuck her with a needle in a moment of weakness.

_She stumbles as he lands a solid right hook, but it only sets her back for a moment before she's swiping his feet out from under him. Pouncing on top of him she pays him back for her ringing jaw and gives him what she hopes will be a decent black eye; feeling real satisfaction when her fist makes contact with his face. He grunts and rolls her, pinning her down with the sheer force of his weight, and when his hands come up to her throat, she feels fear for a split second before bringing her legs up and launching him off of her. He's on her in seconds and she's just barely able to block his swinging fists and attempts at landing a decent kick. She takes a second to remind herself that she's better at this than he is. This is not his specialty. This is not what he's most comfortable with. With newfound vigor she spins catching him with her elbow and gains the upper hand, landing blow after blow on his body._

_And when he fights dirty and pulls her hair she fights dirty right back and bites him. They go at it for a while. Landing hit after hit on each other. Not a word is said between them. Their heavy breathing, grunts, and pants are the only sounds they exchange._

_Anytime her brain tries to reject what is happening she forces herself to focus. Clint is not her partner right now; he's not her friend. He's been compromised and she has to bring him down._

_In anyway she can._

_And she has every intention of doing so, but she lands a pretty hard hit and he stumbles back. His deceptively blue eyes go back to that familiar gray, and he stares at her…no he looks at her, really looks at her. He sees her. And the sorrow, the anguish, the apology she sees in his eyes, hits her harder than any blow he had previously landed. It almost knocks the wind out of her._

_Clint._

" _Tasha?" His voice is pleading, like he wants to tell her something._

_She pauses, and it's during that brief pause that his eyes freeze back to that wrong icy blue, and suddenly he's slamming her head into the metal railing next to her and she goes down. She can feel blood trickling down her face and as he leans over her, he smiles a little a smile that is in no way his, and then she feels something pierce the tender flesh of her skin and everything goes black._

"Well." Natasha whispers as the memory fades.

"Everything come back to you?"

She hates that she jumps at his voice. She hates even more that she hadn't realized right away he had been standing in the farthest, darkest corner of the room. He's good at hiding in the shadows but there's no excuse for him going unnoticed. She shakes her head, disgusted by the remnants of whatever drug he had injected into her.

"You fought dirty." She states, watching as he walks closer to the bed.

"I didn't have time for foreplay."

She snorts at that. But her body tenses.

_Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear_

Loki's promise to her.

She swallows as she watches her brainwashed partner watching her. She has a pretty good idea what is going to happen...what Clint's hijacked body is going to do to her. And in her current condition, she's not sure she has much of a chance.

He's going to kill her.

And as his gaze roams over her body, as his mouth twists into a cruel sneer, as his hands flex and then clench into tight fists, she bites back a frown.

Because she's pretty sure he's going to rape her before or while doing it.

Natasha sighs, feeling just the tiniest bit of her resolve begin to crumble before she coldly pushes it back into place. She can deal with this. She knew she wouldn't live long in this line of work. She knew that her end wouldn't be a pleasant one.

But still…this is a pretty fucked up way to go.

She's never willingly had sex with a man before.

Natasha Romanov infamous seductress, has never willingly taken a lover.

Before coming to SHIELD she had been forced to use her body for the job, in every way possible. The Red Room had made sure that she was good…talented at using her body… _in every way possible._ It was part of her training, she had been told. It made her a better tool, a better weapon. And after she had left them, leaving a trail of blood behind her, her next employers had seen to it that she follow through with her whispered promises and soft touches. Since coming to SHIELD, she still uses her body for the job when necessary but she isn't required to do so in the same way she had before. At SHIELD she only has to pretend to be the seductive temptress.

She doesn't have to follow through.

Her hazy drug induced brain brings back memories she'd rather not think of at a time like this.

" _Hey Romanov."_

_She turns and levels him with an icy stare. Fury has assigned them as partners. It's their first mission together. It's her first mission for SHIELD ever. She's not quite sure what to make of it...she doesn't hate it, but she doesn't like it._

_She decides just to accept it._

" _You don't have to fuck him." His gray eyes lock onto hers. There's no emotion in them, he's simply stating a fact._

_She tenses. "Don't tell me how to do my job." The glare she shoots him is enough to make most men who know her reputation cower in fear. She can kill a person fifty different ways without a weapon, and that's without really having to think about it too much._

_This is a known fact at SHIELD._

_She doesn't have many friends at her new job._

_As she glowers at him, he's not even decent enough to look the slightest bit disturbed._

_Instead he nods, a ghost of a smirk playing across his lips. "Okay."_

_She doesn't sleep with the ambassador to get him to spill his secrets on that mission. Oh sure, she plays like she's going to. She brings him to the edge of temptation and back. She lets her gaze, her fingers, her words linger. She says all of the right things, she dresses all of the right ways._

_But she doesn't sleep with him._

_What her old employers had never realized, had never given her the chance to show, is that she's perfectly capable of bringing a man to his knees without ever becoming intimate with him. So no she doesn't sleep with the ambassador during that mission, and still he spills all of his secrets to her. She gets the information she needs and the mission is successfully completed. But just for fun, because she's still new to this whole turning over a new leaf thing and the red on her ledger is still wet and fresh and dripping, she slits his throat right as he's about to push her up against the wall and take her._

_And she smiles a little as his lifeblood runs from his body._

_She gets in a bit of trouble on that mission. Fury's not sure if the poor ambassador really deserved the death she had given him, and the cover-up costs SHIELD a pretty penny. But he was a cruel man responsible for the deaths of many innocent people, and her punishment is merely a slap on the wrist._

_She's back in the field within a month._

_Clint is assigned as her permanent partner._

_He's forced to watch over her. He made the decision to save her, according to Fury she's become his responsibility._

_She fucks up again, they both pay._

_So from now on she doesn't kill any men or women who aren't actively trying to kill her, or whose death she hasn't been ordered to deliver. Early on, when she does slip, and it only happens a few different times, she makes up some damn good excuses, and Clint seeing past her, looks the other way._

_They are partners after all._

_After she realizes that indeed SHIELD does not expect her to follow through on the promises she whispers in her target's ear, she swears she will never use her body in that way again. She will never degrade herself that way again. Sex isn't necessary._

_When the Red Room first made her use her body as an intimate weapon, she had thought that sex was painful, dirty, and disgusting. But she did it well, because it was a part of her job, and it was required of her. After awhile it was just messy and uncomfortable, until suddenly it was just boring._

_A means to an end._

_Sex is something used as a form of persuasion not pleasure._

_She clings to these thoughts the first year or so after leaving her old life behind and following Clint to SHIELD._

_But as she gets more comfortable with her new position, she finds herself getting more comfortable with her new partner. And no matter how uneasy her new feelings make her, she can't push them aside. She's not blind to their chemistry; she's not blind at all. She notices him. And she notices him noticing her. After a while she begins to like it. After awhile, she begins to let her guard down about sex. Slowly she allows herself to explore her own body, always in the confines of her own room, and always completely alone. She never takes a lover, but she allows herself to indulge in fantasies._

_She's only human…no matter how much it pisses her off…. she is only human. And she finds herself wondering what it would be like...with him. To have sex, to be intimate, with someone she wants to be with._

_With someone she isn't forced to be with._

_With someone she chooses._

Snapping her sluggish brain back to her current situation, Natasha looks on as Clint slowly takes his bow off and places it on the ground at the foot of the bed. She notices he still has a knife at his side. Barely suppressing a shudder, she tries not to let him see her visibly stiffen as he places a knee on the mattress.

She's about to be raped by the only man she has ever considered willingly sleeping with.

She's about to be killed by the only man she has ever trusted with her life.

She's about to be raped by him, while his mind is being raped by a demi-god. And once it's over, she knows Loki will do everything in his power to kill Clint. Or seeing what he has done to her, she's aware that there's a very real possibility that Clint will kill himself.

Talk about a complete mind-fuck.

"Natasha." He says in a voice that sounds like his, but isn't. She watches as strong nimble fingers move to his knife. He pulls it out as he straddles her bound body. She can feel the strength of his thighs caging her in and she contemplates struggling, bringing her legs up, attempting to rear him off of her, but her limbs are still heavy, and she knows it's useless.

"I want you to fight." He says, as if reading her mind.

"Give me a solid twenty minutes for these damn drugs to wear off, undo these ties and I'd be glad to oblige you."

He grins. "Ahh sweetheart where's the fun in that?"

She doesn't appreciate the endearment. "Me kicking your ass? Sounds like a good time to me."

"I think I like you like this…tied up…at my mercy. But feel free to still struggle."

She raises a brow. "I won't…coward."

"Too bad." He murmurs, honestly sounding disappointed.

He draws his knife up; plays with it at the base of her throat a little. His eyes never leave hers, and she doesn't look away. _That_ , she can't give him. Although part of her thinks she should. Because she knows that Clint…the real Clint...is still locked in there somewhere. She knows that this has to be torture for him. But she already can't fight, and she can't give Loki everything, so she keeps her eyes firmly on his.

"I plan to make this hurt." He whispers.

"I know."

He arches a brow, and she wants to spit in his face, because that arched brow, that slightly amused, slightly exasperated expression, is supposed to be entirely Clint's and how dare Loki's imposter use it against her.

"Will you scream?" He asks, sliding the knife across her skin, pricking her a bit, and slicing her flesh just faintly.

She doesn't flinch. "I'll try not to." She tells him honestly.

"He's in love with you." The thing that has stolen Clint's face smirks at her.

"I know." She says, and she wants so badly to scream.

Because she does know.

He told her.

Just once.

In Budapest.

S _he sees him go down. Even when taking heavy fire, she always keeps tabs on him and he on her. So she sees when he goes down. Swearing vehemently in Russian she rushes to him, rage building inside of her. The shit had hit the fan on this mission. What was supposed to be an easy get 'em and go case had turned into a shit show. Running, she barely bats an eye as a car explodes to her right. She's too furious at that moment. Furious that_ _Lakatos,_ _the weapons dealer they were supposed to take down, had been made aware of their presence. Furious that this set back would undoubtedly cut into her holiday time because now this mission was not going to be the open and closed one that had been promised to them. They would be backtracking for days, weeks even. But mostly she was furious that Clint had gotten hit, because being the jackass that he is, he had left his perch to provide cover for her as she had sped from Lakatos mansion with heavy guns hot on her tracks._

" _Son of a bitch!" She yells as a spray of bullets delays her._

_She needs to get to him._

_He's taken hits before. She's seen him get hurt before. But this is bad; the fear in her gut all but screams it. Running towards him, she fires her gun while dodging enemy bullets. One grazes her shoulder and she takes a second to pull out a grenade, biting the pin, she throws it as far as she can, waiting for the explosion before sliding up next to him and rolling him towards the abandoned building he had been using for cover. Cursing him, she can't pinpoint who she's angrier with; their targets for almost killing him, or Clint for allowing himself to get a near fatal injury. As she applies pressure to his gushing wound with one hand and continues shooting with the other, he smiles up at her. Murmuring softly that she looks like an avenging angel._

_She arches a brow at him, not at all amused by his romantic sentiments._

" _Don't talk." She tells him; glancing down at the blood pouring over her fingers. She's had his blood on her hands before. This is not something new. So she pushes down the fear and the panic that is just threatening the edges of her mind. There's no time for emotions in the field._

_She speaks into her earpiece, or maybe she shouts, demanding back up and a medic and demanding them now._

_Another round of bullets attempt to take them out and she covers his body with hers. Even more pissed off now, she takes his hand and hisses for him to keep it on his wound, grabbing his fallen weapon she pounces to her feet and methodically begins to take out target after target, until there's no more returning fire, and things go eerily silent for a bit. Returning her attention back to him, she looks down to find his steely gray eyes looking back up at her; dull and hazy with pain and loss of blood._

" _I love you." It's a gurgled whisper. Barely understandable. Barely decipherable._

_But she hears him._

_He falls into unconsciousness immediately after._

_Fury sends in back-up and she and Clint are rescued. He's rushed to surgery and ultimately survives but his injury heals slower than she knows he'd like. On her down time, she helps him to recover. They never speak of his confession. She likes to think that he doesn't remember it. She likes to pretend sometimes it was the loss of blood that had caused the murmured words to spill from his mouth._

_Sometimes, she pretends that she had misheard him entirely._

_But then she feels his eyes on her. She sees something flash in their gray depths as they spar and train, and eventually go back on missions together, and she knows that what had been said in Budapest, was absolutely the truth._

_He loves her._

"How many men have you been with?"

His knife is ripping through her clothes, he's cutting her in the process, she can feel the slice of the blade, and the warmth of her blood. The way he's cutting her, it's not enough to deeply wound her, just a bunch of surface scratches...but he's doing it on purpose. She knows that with his eyes closed, he can shred every bit of clothing off of her with that blade, and not once knick her. He pokes her with the knife a bit deeper and she knows he's waiting for her to answer.

"Too many to count."

"How many have you wanted to be with?"

She doesn't answer.

He sneers. "The Black Widow doesn't let too many people in. She doesn't let too many people get close. But you gave your body over again and again…for your job. You were nothing more than a slut with a gun before you met him. Before he gave you a second chance."

She stays silent. She knows it has Clint's memories. Loki may have put a spell on him, but Clint's memories are still in tact. That's how Loki knew so much about her, SHIELD… _everything._

She stares at Clint's face twisted into a cruel smile and tries to convince herself that the pang in her chest is not her heart breaking...because she's too much of a miserable bitch to claim to have a heart.

But Clint's imposter word's ring in her ears.

Because _he's_ the only person she's ever let get close to her.

_They are in Rome. She's resting in her hotel room after a mission that almost went horribly wrong. When the door to her hotel room flings open she's not surprised._

" _Jesus Christ Nat! You could have gotten yourself killed." He yells it at her; his voice nearly quivering with fury._

_She watches as he slams the door shut behind him and when he levels her with a glare, she merely shrugs._

_Silence hangs thick and heavy in the air._

_Finally he breaks it._

" _This." He holds up her earpiece before flinging it at her with a quick flick of his wrist. "Stays in at all times…don't do something that stupid ever again." His voice is low and controlled._

_It sounds deadly._

" _If you hadn't kept chirping in my ear I wouldn't have taken the damn thing out." Her tone is just as cool as his._

" _The mission was a bust...they were on you the minute you walked in there."_

" _I got the information!" Her voice raises a notch, and this irritates her. He's the only person in the world that can rile her up._

" _You nearly blew the whole thing and almost got yourself killed!"_

" _That's not how I see it." She lies. Because she's perfectly aware that she had been careless. She doesn't like to admit it, but she was off today. She had made a mistake and when she had realized it, it had almost been too late. She remembers hearing his voice in her ear frantically telling her to get the hell out, warning that her cover had been blown. She remembers thinking about Budapest about how she wasn't going to let this mission end the same way. And then she had snapped, and had almost compromised the entire thing. It had been dumb, but the end state is she had gotten the information and any and all risk factors had been taken out._

_Case closed._

_She's not sure what will satisfy him. What she needs to say to him to get him off her back, but she sure as hell isn't going to admit right now that she had been wrong. Finished with the conversation she makes a move towards the bathroom but he blocks her path._

_She cocks an eyebrow. "Really? We're going to do this?" She clenches and unclenches her first, ready to pounce._

_He stares at her a moment, his eyes flashing with barely controlled anger and something else she can't quite place. And then suddenly it fades and he sighs. "Don't shut me out Natasha."_

_She wants to throw a retort back in his face. She wants to smirk at his suddenly defeated expression, she wants to tell him he's weak, but instead she finds herself closing her eyes._

" _I won't." She says and she means it._

_She doesn't pull away when he pulls her to him. She doesn't immediately try to drop him to the ground when his arms come up around her. And as she leans into his embrace, she feels the walls she has put up around her heart begin to crack. He holds her for a moment, before whispering into her hair, softly in the language she grew up with. She can just barely make out his words._

"Мое сердце _"_

_My heart._

"Natasha your daydreaming again." His voice is taunting. "On your long list of lovers, how many men did you actually want to be with?"

"None of them." She's silent after that, refusing to say more. She won't think about the one lover she never took.

Her answer and the silence that follows seem to satisfy him. "Have you thought of me in this way before Natasha? On top of you like this?"

Natasha doesn't answer as the blade continues to rip her clothing open until she's lying before him exposed and bleeding.

"So beautiful." His voice, Clint's voice, it almost sounds reverent, awed. His eyes are cold as he drinks in the sight of her naked body; decorated with tiny slashes from his blade.

And she hates the way he's looking at her, because she has pictured him looking at her that way before. Only it's not Clint, and she tells herself that as he brings a hand to her breast and teases the nipple lightly.

She bites her lip, as bile rises up in her throat.

"I'm going to fuck you Natasha. And I'm going to slide my knife into as I'm doing it."

She nods.

He smirks at that. "Don't you have anything to say?" He sounds almost surprised.

She considers remaining silent, not giving him the pleasure of any last words. But as she stares at his face...Clint's face... she hesitates. He's in there, watching what his body is doing to her. She knows this. He had been able to break free for just a moment, before Loki's magic had regained control of him and he had knocked her out. So he's in there, and he deserves to know that she doesn't blame him. That she knows he's unable to stop it.

The walls shake again, as whatever battle is going on outside of the room continues, and she hopes for a moment that the rest of the team is able to take Loki down, even if it's too late to save her. Bringing her attention back to Clint she smiles softly, the act obviously surprising him as his eyes narrow at it.

"I forgive you Clint." She whispers, her throat feels thick with emotion.

"What?"

"I forgive you."

He doesn't like this, and frowns. "I'm going to kill you Natasha, but first I'm going to rape you."

"Your not him. Not really." She smirks and she knows it infuriates him.

"I'm going to make you scream and beg for your life."

"I forgive you Clint." She says again ignoring the imposter, her voice is more determined.

Frustration crosses his cold features, and he brings his knife to rest near her stomach while his other hand makes quick work of opening his pants.

"You're going to feel my cock inside of you, before you feel my knife."

As he positions himself at her entrance, she can't help from tensing. She can feel tears pricking her eyes and she hates herself at that moment. But she's about to die, and she reasons that maybe it's okay to cry, because surely when facing certain death at the hands of the only person she has ever trusted, even _she_ can allow herself to crumble. But then Clint crosses her mind, and she knows that she can't do that to him. So she works up a tremulous smile, throwing off his imposter.

And as the tip of him presses into her, she catches the frigidly blue eyes that are boring down on her and pretends that they're gray.

She remembers his words to her in Budapest, in Rome.

"Я тоже тебя люблю." _I love you too._ She whispers it to him in her native tongue; they're laced with an apology. She's sorry she never said them sooner.

He stills above her, and she watches as his body shudders, a low guttural groan is ripped from him and he sounds like a wild animal howling in pain. His eyes grow wide before they shimmer from pale icy blue to a stormy strong gray. He's motionless above her, staring down at her, and she doesn't dare move beneath him.

And then he gasps and catches his breath. "Tasha." His voice is pained and desperate.

She's frozen. She can't move. It's a cruel _cruel_ trick.

One last 'fuck you' to the master assassin before she dies.

"Oh Christ. Tasha, Tasha, Tasha…" He says her name over and over, like a chant, a prayer, and still she can't budge.

When he moves the hand that is still clutching his knife, she flinches, and worry, distress, and anger all clash in his gray eyes for a moment before he slashes through the ropes binding her down. Freed, she still doesn't move, doesn't allow herself to hope that it's really him.

It's not until he has gathered her in his arms and is apologizing over and over again, his voice a low rumble in her ear, that she lets the tears she's been trying to hold back fall.

Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow, one of the world's greatest spies and assassins, cries into his embrace whimpering like a lost child. She cries for the first time in what feels like decades. Her only vivid memory of giving into the action, being after her very first kill. She had been beaten afterwards for showing such weakness. After that her body and mind refused to betray her in that way again.

Until now.

As hot wet tears streak her cheeks, she wonders if they are stained red.

She's almost certain they are.

The muffled sound of her sobs fill the dark room, and the thuds of explosions in the not so far off distance rattle them both, but he continues to hold her speaking soft apologies to her, alternating between English and the Russian he's fluent in. He tells her he's going to bring Loki down himself, and he promises that she can be the one to kill him, to deliver the final blow.

She is pretty sure they are empty promises, that there is no way he can guarantee that to her, but it comforts her and her tears slowly begin to subside. Later, the embarrassment will come. But now, all she does is allow him to hold her, knowing that in a few moments she'll have to get up and find new clothes. There is much more that needs to be done.

Clint doesn't tell her he loves her, and she doesn't repeat her earlier declaration. _Love is for children_ she had told Loki. Part of her still believes this. Because really, what they have, what they mean to each other, is so much deeper, so much more than mere love.

They know this.

They have always known this.

There is no need to say more.

In the few last moments that she allows him to keep his arms around her, before they get up to join the rest of their team, he whispers something about how she saved him. She doesn't think that's entirely true, the way she views it, he broke through Loki's mind control to get to her, to save what was left of her.

She owes him another debt.

But knowing that he'll only argue with her, she remains silent, and lets him hold her for a moment longer.

Later after they have cleaned themselves up and have redressed, after Cap has retrieved them and they fly straight into the heart of Manhattan to take on Loki and his alien army, Natasha slowly steps into her comfort zone. Adrenaline pumps through her veins at a fast rate as people run for cover; screaming all around her. There are explosions and heavy enemy fire. These are familiar sounds, familiar feelings…ones she knows all too well. Never taking her eyes off of her targets she shoots her guns and shouts over to him, needing the easy banter. After everything that has happened, everything that has been revealed she needs, craves, demands that on this mission they act like they always do. Cool, calm, and disconnected from the reality of what they are doing…of what's really happening.

"Just like Budapest all over again!"

She can hear the smirk in his voice when he answers. "You and I remember Budapest very differently."


	2. Can't Face The Dark Without You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank Lover's Reason for all her help with this chapter!

She's in his room.

Stepping out of the shower, Clint shoots a glance towards the closed bathroom door. He's not sure how he knows it. Maybe it's some sixth sense bullshit, but he's confident that Natasha is waiting for him on the other side of the bathroom door. Grabbing a towel **,** he makes quick work of drying himself off while contemplating her reason for paying him a late night visit.

She's been distant lately.

At first, after he had been put under Loki's mind control, after she had confessed her love for him, after they had fought the battle with the Chitauri, he had been the one who had been distant. He had been the one to push her away. The crushing guilt he had felt had been unbearable.

He had almost killed her.

He had almost raped her.

The nightmares had come shortly after they had sent Loki back to Asgard with Thor. He'd wake up in the middle of the night; images of Natasha bloodied and battered still fresh in his mind. Sometimes he'd wake up screaming, sweat covering his body, her name on his lips, tears streaking down his face. After awhile, after weeks of the same dreams haunting him, he began to wake up in her warm embrace. She'd bring him out of his dreams with cool hands and soft words. And she'd let him hold her as he whispered his apologies.

After awhile the dreams had begun to get less vivid, less intense and her late night visits had become less frequent, until finally she had stopped coming to see him altogether.

At first he had wanted to give her space. They had both been through hell and back. He knew that one wrong move could send her running. So he had kept his distance; giving her space he was sure she needed…craved.

But now…now he was just getting impatient.

He had tried to reason with himself that she had been through just as much, if not more than him. She had stared up into his cold eyes and had waited for him to deliver her death in the most fucked up way imaginable. He had tried to remind himself that she needed to heal too.

But then he would catch her eye, and it wasn't fear that he'd see there but longing…love.

They needed each other.

So now, all he can think as he stares at the closed door, knowing that the redhead is on the other side is…it's about damn time.

Of course, had someone told him a few years ago that he would be waiting impatiently for the night when the Black Widow showed up in his room willingly, he would have laughed his ass off.

" _Tasha, just drop the pill in the poor bastard's drink, grab the file and let's get the hell out of here. I'm hungry." His words are clipped and frustrated. He's annoyed that she's taking her sweet time with this particular target._

" _Don't call me Tasha." Her voice is barely a whisper in his earpiece, and he can see through the scope of his rifle that her lips hardly move at all as she softly speaks the words. Her back is to her target, who is fumbling to get out of his evening attire, and she's facing the window. Briefly her gaze searches the rooftop she knows he's perched on._

" _Ahhh darlin' when are you going to quit denying me?" She's a stickler for going by the book. In their year and a half stint as partners, she's never once called him anything but Barton or Agent Barton. So he uses the endearment knowing that most men in his position would be sealing their death. And maybe he does have a death wish, or maybe he just enjoys riling the redhead up. Regardless he smirks, as he sees her mouth dip down into a slight frown at his words._

" _Idiot," he hears her whisper as she places a pill in the glass of wine she holds in her hand. He watches her as she waits for it to dissolve before turning back to the target who has finally rid himself of his jacket and tie._

" _Cara mia." Their target, a middle aged man by the name of Moretti, says in a slurred, heavily-accented voice. "Come here so I can look at you."_

_Clint arches a brow, amused by Moretti's awed expression. Watching as Natasha fluidly walks over to her target carrying the poisoned drink in one hand and a purse with her nine-millimeter in the other, he can't help but shake his head slightly. Her wig is black, long and wavy, her dress is tight, bold and red. It hugs her curves but still hides the knives she has strapped to her thighs. It never ceases to amaze him, the number of dirt-bag men that think they can actually have Natasha. He hates to admit it, but he thoroughly enjoys watching her put them in their place…or a bullet through their brain._

_Whichever she prefers._

_It's as she's handing Moretti the drink that Clint notices a grim look pass over their target's features briefly and the slight tension in the older man's shoulders._

_He's on to her._

" _Tasha…" Clint says, his voice is low and carries a warning._

_He can tell that she's noticed too, her shoulders also tense slightly as the man takes the drink from her and places it on the table to his right._

" _Mia uccellino." The man is no longer sluggish, and Clint has to give him credit for playing the drunken fool flawlessly throughout the evening._

_Natasha's voice is full of innocence. "Shall I get undressed?"_

_Moretti chuckles. "Drop the act my bella. I should warn you, I have twenty armed guards that have been notified of your presence. But first, you and I… we're going to get better acquainted before they join us. That sounds nice, no?"_

_Hearing this, Clint scans the area for signs of the guards. "Quit messing around. Take care of him, grab the file and get out of there," he says, when satisfied that she's not in any immediate danger._

_Turning his focus back on her, he sees her nod once. And in the blink of an eye she's on top of him. Before Moretti's mouth can open to call out to the guards he had warned her about, his neck is snapped and she's stepping over his body, making her way to the safe that is hidden in the wall behind his large desk._

_They both notice the door opening at the far side of the room at the same time._

_He prepares to shoot._

" _Papa! Papa!" The small shriek fills his earpiece._

" _Shit," Clint mutters. "Shit, shit, shit." He watches as a small child with soft brown hair runs into the room. Moretti's youngest daughter. Her room is adjacent to his and shares a door. She's afraid of the dark and is often kept close to him. He remembers Natasha telling him this as they went over the details of the mission earlier. He remembers thinking what a shame it was that the guy actually seemed to be a decent father, all the while funding one of the world's largest underground terrorists organizations and stealing the lives of innocent children in third world countries every day._

_His eyes dart to Natasha and he sees that she's frozen. Her body is rigid as she takes in the sight of the confused child._

_"Natasha." He speaks louder than normal when watching over her on a mission, he's trying to break her out of her trance._

_She doesn't move, just continues to stare at the child, who is now directly in front of her father's fallen body, staring down at his lifeless form._

" _Papa?" He can hear the hysterics in the young girl's voice._

" _Natasha!" Clint practically bellows trying to jerk her out of her daze._

_Still Natasha doesn't move but only stares at the child who has fallen to her knees, crying onto her father's dead body. The child's soft sobs are growing louder, and any minute the guards Moretti threatened her with will come rushing into the room._

_Clint sighs and drops his gun, reaching over for another weapon, he hears the tiny whimpers float up through his earpiece._

_"Why? Why? What has happened to my Papa?"_

_Natasha steps forward to the child and reaches out an unsteady hand. It is at that moment that Clint shoots, hears the glass from the window shatter and watches as the child collapses onto her father's chest._

_Wide green eyes immediately dart to the window._

_"Tranquilizer...she's just sleeping. Get the file." He says it slowly, carefully. She seemingly snaps out of whatever spell the child had put her under and in quick movements opens the safe with the combination she had lifted earlier. Grabbing the file from its place, she glances back at the child briefly before making her way to the window._

_As she's swinging out of the window and scaling down the house, past the guards he's already taken care of, he speaks to her, his voice light._

_"Meet you back at the car. You're buying dinner tonight."_

_It's his way of saying he's already forgotten about the child, about her stalling._

_"Go to hell Clint."_

_It's the first time she ever calls him by his first name. It's her way of saying thank you._

He opens the bathroom door and stepping into his bedroom takes in the sight of her perched on the edge of his bed. She's staring down at her hands and doesn't look up when he enters the room. For a moment he simply stares at her before moving over to his dresser and opening a drawer, grabbing a pair of sweat pants and boxers. He drops his towel without any thought and pulls the clothes on. When he looks back over at her she's smirking up at him.

He shrugs, not at all apologetic for his brief nudity. "It's my room."

Her lips twitch a bit. "I know."

She looks young. The nearly ten-year age difference between them hits him hard at that moment. Her face is scrubbed clean of make-up. Her hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail and she's wearing jeans and a simple white tank top. He momentarily thinks that she could easily pass for a fresh and innocent undergraduate. But then she raises her green eyes to his and he sees a glimmer of strength and hardness in them, and his lips quirk into a small smile.

No, Natasha Romanov could never be mistaken as innocent.

He holds her stare for a moment, before raising a brow. "What do you want Natasha?"

"Is that any way to greet me моя любовь?"

He chuckles, the sound is loud in the quiet room. She's still such a mystery to him. Sometimes he wonders how the hell he allowed himself to fall so hard. But thinking back on it…he knows he never had a chance.

_She's the first sparring partner that he's had that actually challenges him. It's exhilarating training with her, and he knows she feels the same way, although she'll never admit it._

_As he blocks a hit, he sees a determined glint in her eye and she comes at him in a blur of movement, her fists swinging so fast he barely has a chance to react. He grins when her eyes narrow as he deflects a blow he's sure she smugly thought would land painfully on his shoulder._

_Today is particularly thrilling. It's been months since he's been able to go a decent round with her; they've both been off on their own back-to-back solo missions and have both just recently checked back in with SHIELD. Fury finally decided that they had been separated long enough and had informed them the other day their next mission would be together. When he had snuck a glance at her during that particular meeting, he could have sworn her lips had quirked up into a satisfied smile, before her face became a blank slate of impassiveness once again._

_He flips her over his shoulder and takes a moment to appreciate the slightly feminine "oh" that escapes her lips before she's rolling and back on her feet again. They circle each other, once, twice, and then she's leaping at him again. It's more like a dance than a fight and he knows that he'll never find a better partner than her. When she makes a small mistake and hesitates briefly, he takes the opportunity to lunge at her and before she knows what has hit her he's on top of her smirking down into her slightly surprised face._

" _You're good," she says. It's the first time in their two-year relationship as partners that she's ever complimented him on his fighting skills._

_Somewhat shocked, he loosens his hold on her. "Thanks."_

_The words are barely out of his mouth before he finds himself pinned beneath her._

" _But I'm better."_

_It's not the fact that she has so flawlessly gained the upper hand on him that almost knocks the breath out of him. It's not even the fact that her knee is resting dangerously close to his groin that has his pulse racing at a rapid pace._

_It's the smile she flashes him._

_He's never seen her smile so naturally before. Usually it's cool and calculating, or nothing more than a smirk or slight grin directed at him with a roll of her eyes. Staring up at her, it takes him a moment to register what exactly he's seeing._

_The smile she's flashing him, is full and bright and stunning._

_She's happy._

_He always thought that cool and detached Natasha was beautiful. He'd be lying if he said that he has never noticed her physically. But the Natasha that he's staring up at now, with her eyes soft and face alight with pleasure, is practically a divine being._

_After what seems like an eternity, with the redheaded goddess grinning down at him, her smile slowly fades into her signature smirk and she's jumping off of him clearly satisfied that she was able to best him._

" _See you in the morning Barton," she calls over her shoulder, walking past the crowd of agents that they had attracted during their sparring match._

" _Oh hell," he mumbles to himself. Not even bothering to get up off the mat, he closes his eyes and groans. He knows to anyone else he most likely just appears to be embarrassed that she had beat him. Let 'em think that. It's much better than what is really going through his head._

_Natasha Romanov has finally worked her way inside his heart._

_The rest of the day he can only see cold green eyes suddenly go bright, a usually grim and serious full mouth flash into an amused and dazzling grin. Disgusted with himself, he decides to take care of the issue the best way he knows how, and finds himself at some dive bar on the outskirts of the city._

_He smiles, when a pretty little blonde saunters up to him._

_Her name is Sherri._

_Later as he's burying himself inside of her at some cheap motel, he curses when he finds himself picturing knowing green eyes staring up at him, instead of Sherri's dull brown. He imagines the soft blonde hair a bright blood red. This only serves to irritate him more, and he thrusts into the woman beneath him even harder, much to her delight. She cries out, calling God's name and the fake name he had given her earlier. But her voice is high and bubbly instead of low and sultry and it takes him much longer than it should to finally come. When he rolls off of her and stands up to get dressed he barely pays attention to the blonde as she gushes about how he's the best she's ever had._

_He knows he's a dick as he leaves the motel room without a backward glance._

_The next day, he's angry with himself and furious at Natasha. Pissed off that she had the audacity to sneak up on him, to work her way into his supposedly closed-off heart. When they spar he doesn't hold back his anger, and he can see the surprise in her face as his fury comes through in his blows, his kicks, and his overall frustrated movements._

_He has her pinned in minutes._

_She's breathing heavily her eyes are wide and green, shimmering with appreciation at his skill, anger at being beat by him, and something else he can't quite place._

" _Well…" she drawls._

" _Well." He leans back a bit and stares down into her flawless face. "Looks like you're not that good."_

_Jumping up he walks away from her and heads towards the door. He needs a damn cold shower._

"You've been avoiding me Tasha," Clint tells her. His tone isn't accusing, he's simply stating a fact.

Natasha nods, her eyes on his are unwavering. "Yes."

He grins at her honesty before delivering the blow. "You never struck me as cowardly."

Her eyes flash at that and she's standing in the blink of an eye. "Don't," she says in that low sultry voice that drives him crazy.

Clint recognizes danger when he sees it, but he's never been particularly smart and enjoys a challenge, so instead of backing down he takes a step towards her.

"Don't what Tasha? Call it like it is?" he asks her, his eyes never leaving her face.

She frowns at that. "It's not that simple."

Clint smiles, knowing it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Isn't it?"

She sighs, the anger that had been so clear in her stance, in her eyes, vanishes. "Loki…the Chitauri …we've been compromised Clint." She whispers it. She looks almost ashamed by the admission.

His laugh is unexpected and her face hardens at the sound. She doesn't like to be laughed at.

"That's bullshit. What happened with Loki was fucked up. I'm pretty sure I'll go to my grave not being able to truly forgive myself. But it still hasn't changed a thing…not between us."

Natasha doesn't say anything at that but he sees her shoulders droop a bit, her eyes lower to the floor.

Clint stares at her, waiting until she sighs somewhat resigned and finally meets his gaze. He wants her to realize that he knows that while she may have just recently admitted her feelings for him, that she had never fooled him. He's known for a while what was in her heart, even if she had refused to speak of it out loud.

"We've both been compromised for a while now Tasha."

When she stays quiet he knows it's because she's aware she can't argue with him.

They were compromised long before Loki ever came into the picture.

_The rage he feels when he bursts into the room and sees her tied helplessly to a chair in only her underwear with an armed guard standing over her is like nothing he's ever felt before. The guard never even has a chance to turn his head before he puts a bullet in it. Slowly, cautiously, he walks over to her. Her hands are in thick metal cuffs, her legs are bound to the chair with heavy chains. He notices that her breathing is labored, there's a cut above her eye, and her lip is split. Bruises are visible on her bare arms and legs. She's in obvious pain; based on her breathing he's guessing she's sporting a few broken ribs. When she lifts her head and sees it's him that has entered the room relief and maybe even slight amusement crosses her features._

" _Hey gorgeous," he says, stepping over the guard's dead body._

" _That was quick…I don't think I've ever known Fury to send out a rescue team so fast." Her voice is hoarse, but her tone is flat and maybe even slightly mocking._

_He smiles at that and kneels in front of her. Inspecting the cuffs around her wrist, he tenderly rubs his thumb over the back of her hand._

" _Fury didn't issue a rescue mission…he's still scrambling to get one together."_

_Green eyes meet his. "You went rogue?"_

_He shrugs. "I got tired of waiting."_

" _Damnit Clint! You could have gotten yourself killed." Her previously flat voice is now trembling; she's angry, maybe even scared._

_He gives her a small grin as he begins to work on her cuffs. "But I didn't."_

" _But you could have!" she presses._

" _Is that anyway to say thank you to your knight in shining armor?" He jokes lightly, while gently releasing her of the cuffs. Her arms drop limply to her sides, and he struggles to keep his face calm and impassive. He lets his eyes roam over body, her thighs have burns on them, most likely cigarette, and the bruises on her legs are large and purple. He feels his jaw clench at the sight._

" _They touch you sweetheart?" He asks softly, working at the chains around her legs._

_She chuckles. "Clint I'm covered in bruises and blood, of course they touched me."_

_He raises his head and meets her eyes. He know she's aware that he's asking if they had taken their torture a step further and had sexually assaulted her. She's embarrassed, he can see it in her eyes, but whether it's because she had been violated in that way or she's just upset she had been so vulnerable he's unsure, and he can see she doesn't want to tell him; she doesn't want to talk about it. They battle back and forth silently with their eyes before she sighs and shakes her head._

" _I think the Black Widow was a bit too poisonous for their taste…they just wanted information."_

_He nods and stands now that she's free of her chains and cuffs. "You must have pissed them off pretty good Nat. You were barely gone a day."_

_She shrugs and arches a blood-covered brow. "They didn't ask nicely."_

_He grins at that. "Can you walk out of here or do I get to carry you?"_

_The scowl on her face tells him she'd prefer the former but most likely will have to go with the latter. He smirks at her obvious distaste for having to be carried and before he gets a chance to swoop down and lift her into his arms, she stops him by speaking his name softly._

" _Clint...you've got to stop doing this." Her voice is low, and laced with barely concealed emotion._

_He considers her a moment, she won't meet his eyes. "Doing what?"_

_She's silent and doesn't answer him right away. He gives her some time to find whatever words it is that she needs to say to him._

_Finally she sighs and pins him with her green gaze. "Saving me."_

_He smiles softly at that and reaches out to brush away a lock of scarlet hair. "Not a chance."_

_She doesn't smile back at him, but frowns instead. "Clint I'm serious…I can't…if something had happened…I…you don't understand…I can't lose you."_

_It's the closest she's come to admitting her feelings for him, and he has to struggle to maintain the mask of indifference he usually wears on his face. "I can't lose you either, моя любовь."_

_They hold each other's stares for a while before she finally looks away. "We're a couple of idiots."_

_He laughs at that and swoops her up bridal style preparing to carry her out of the compound. The moment is over and he knows better than to press her further. Handing her a gun he sees a glint of appreciation come into her eyes when the weapon is placed in her hand. He's pretty sure she feels more naked without her weapons than she does without her clothes on._

" _You think you can shoot straight?"_

_She looks insulted that he even asked her that. And he can't help but grin at the smug look that crosses her face when without even batting an eye she shoots two stray guards that happen to round the corner as they're leaving._

"I don't know what to do."

He's never heard her sound so lost before, and he can't help the soft smile that tenderly crosses his lips at her words. She looks so vulnerable at that moment, and he knows that she hates it. She hates not being in control. He's quite certain if Natasha were able to control her feelings she would force herself not to feel anything for him.

Fortunately for him, love isn't something so easily manipulated.

He takes a step towards her, and watches as her eyes flit up to meet his.

"I don't think there's much of a plan for this Tasha…this is nothing we were ever trained for."

She smirks as he repeats the words she had spoken to him weeks ago before going into battle against Loki.

"It's going to get us killed," she states bluntly.

He shrugs, continuing to walk over to her slowly. "Or it'll save our lives."

"Romantic." She's frowning but her voice carries a hint of amusement.

Stopping in front of her, he stares down into her porcelain face. "I'm tired of playing games Natasha."

She nods at his words. "I know."

"It's a pretty messed up world. A lot of fucked up things have happened to us…will keep happening to us."

She laughs softly at that but doesn't say anything.

"I don't want to face them alone…not without you."

Her green eyes are glimmering, and he can tell she's trying hard to keep her emotions in check. "Clint, if we…in our line of work is it really smart for us to…to act on our feelings?"

Reaching out he tugs on a lock of fiery hair, she closes her eyes at his touch, and he lets his fingers linger.

"Are you telling me if we don't…if we both walk away and pretend that there's nothing between us, that's going to stop us from acting any differently in the field?"

She sighs. "No." It comes out a whisper.

Slowly, tenderly, he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her closer, closing the small space between them. When her body is flushed up against his and her eyes are gazing up at him, he lowers his head slowly.

"What the hell is the point of trying to stay alive, trying to save the damn planet, if there's nothing worth living for?…I don't want to deny us anymore."

He can see the inner battle going on behind her emerald gaze. There's an intense fight happening internally between the Black Widow and Natasha and he waits patiently, hoping for the latter to overpower the former.

Finally she smiles softly, almost sadly. "И я не хочу, любовь моя"

_Nor do I my love._

It's not him, but her who initiates the kiss. Raising herself on tiptoes she gently places her lips on his. He had always imagined their first kiss would be during or after a mission; fiery, and passionate, hot and wild with barely controlled emotions simmering beneath it. But this, this slow and tender kiss is even better than the hot embraces he had fantasized about countless times before.

This is Natasha he's kissing, not the Widow.

As her hands snake up his chest, and she wraps her arms around his neck, he lets his lips brush over hers once, twice, before his tongue gently seeks entrance to her mouth. She eagerly allows him in and kisses him back, hungrily responding to him. Tightening his hold on her, he gathers her even closer, pressing his body into her soft and pliant warmth and deepening the kiss while appreciating the soft moan that escapes her lips.

"Clint." She breathes his name softly and he lifts his head to look down at her.

He can feel his body tense, and realizes he's waiting for her to push him away. He's waiting for her to tell him that they can't go through with it; it's too dangerous to take it any further. But when she meets his eyes, she's smiling, a soft feminine smile. A smile of a woman in love, not a master assassin coldly assessing the situation.

"I love you."

He can't say he's shocked by how apprehensive and tentative she sounds. This is not comfortable territory for her. She's unsure how to proceed. She's out of her comfort zone. He knows no amount of guns, blood, and training could have prepared her for the raw emotion she's feeling at the moment.

Smiling down at her, he lowers his forehead to hers.

"I love you too, Tasha."

She smirks. "We're a couple of idiots."

He laughs at that. And kisses her again.

He'll gladly die an idiot if that means he gets the chance to be loved by her.


End file.
